


The Merchant-Prince of Lysatra

by xenocuriosa



Category: Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alien Rituals, Aphrodisiacs, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenocuriosa/pseuds/xenocuriosa
Summary: Eli Vanto is a cadet at Myomar Academy - and he's also a prince with family duties to uphold. When a delegation from the Chiss Ascendancy arrives on the borders of Lysatran space, he knows what he has to do.





	The Merchant-Prince of Lysatra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fairleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/gifts).

Thrawn did not pace, or curse, or ball his hands into fists, or indeed display any behavior that indicated his deep discontent with his recent orders. Thrass, who knew his brother, saw it nonetheless in his complete stillness. He didn't even blink as he contemplated the ruling the Council of Families had handed down, overriding his Defense Fleet orders. His fingers were interlaced, one ankle crossed over his knee in a facsimile of relaxation.

Thrass, for his part, had already accepted his fate with a sense of dull resignation. As a son of the Mitth Family and an aspiring Syndic, he had always known his marriage would be arranged with an eye to strengthening political alliances. Thrawn had known that too; but there was a difference between marrying a Chiss, who would have few expectations of him and be content to remain on Csilla with Thrass, and marrying an alien—an alien who had demanded to be inducted into the Defense Fleet, citing his experience with his people's military training academy as proof of his qualifications.

_Ridiculous_, Thrass thought. As if they could rely on an alien military regimen to be up to Chiss standards.

"You too will be trapped in this farce," Thrawn said abruptly. His eyes focused and landed on Thrass, who was too familiar with that intense stare to be intimidated. "What are your thoughts?"

Thrass raised his hand palm-up in a gesture of acceptance.

"It is what it is," he said simply. "We both knew when we were accepted as Trial-Born that we would be expected to form a triad. It's tradition."

"Tradition," Thrawn said, his eyes narrowing to slits, "is not an excuse for foolishness."

"Nonetheless," Thrass said. "Our lives are not our own."

"Mine belongs to the Defense Fleet," Thrawn said flatly. "Not the Mitth Family."

Thrass winced.

"Don't let them hear you say that," he warned. "Besides, you haven't given up your family name yet—your heart may belong to the Fleet, but you don't. And," he added, "you're naive if you think the Defense Hierarchy had nothing to do with this."

Thrawn was silent a moment. He glanced away.

"I am far more useful to them when I am not hampered by ties of familial honor," he said.

"You think you are," Thrass said, wondering why he had to explain this to his brother. How could Thrawn be so brilliant as a military leader, and yet so blind when it came to politics? "But Thrawn, you push the limits nearly beyond the tolerance of the Hierarchy. They hope this will tame you.

"And if not," Thrass continued, "you know the punishment, should you transgress once more."

"Yes. Exile."

Thrawn was silent for a long moment, his eyes unfocused. Thrass pulled out the other chair at the small round table; his brother's quarters aboard the _Springhawk_ were private, as befitted the commander, and well-appointed. Artwork from varying cultures hung on his walls, some a riot of color, some in greys and blacks, and there was a single sculp of two reptiles with snouts touching on his desk. Thrass stroked the sculp gingerly, unsure if it was fragile. It was solid stone, buffed to a smooth finish.

"A Rhigarian design," Thrawn said, referring to one of the colony worlds populated by the Chiss long ago. "Intriguing, isn't it? There are large flying reptiles on that world, and they plagued the Chiss settlers for decades. What conclusions can you draw from this sculp about Chiss relations with the reptiles?"

Thrass sighed. Thrawn had his didactic voice firmly in place. Thrass supposed it was his right as the older brother, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

"I conclude," he said, a little more sarcastically than he meant to, "that they have interacted with the reptiles before."

Thrawn pursed his lips, a sign of displeasure. "Obviously. What of the material?"

"Most likely the stone was the sturdiest material they could use. Thrawn, you are avoiding the subject. Will you marry this alien to guarantee peace with these people, or do you choose exile?"

"Peace with these people, and a cage for me."

A cage indeed. Because, Thrass knew, if they did not bring this planet, this Lysatra, into the fold of the Ascendancy, the force of the alien's Empire could be brought to bear against the Chiss.

"It's not too much to ask, for the safety of the Ascendancy," Thrass said softly.

Thrawn closed his eyes briefly.

"I will do it," he said.

"Good," Thrass said. "I will inform Aristocra Mitth'lan'sabosen."

As Thrass exited Thrawn's quarters, he stole a last look at his brother. Thrawn was gazing at the sculp, a slight frown furrowing his forehead. His hand drifted to the rank patch on his right arm, and his fingers brushed it gently.

Thrass closed the door and stood for a moment in the doorway, pensive. He did not like seeing Thrawn unhappy, but this was truly for the best.

He only hoped this Eli Vanto was tolerable to both of them.

* * *

  
Eli still couldn't believe this was happening.

One minute he had been at Myomar Academy, a promising supply officer-in-training, and the next, he had been whisked home to Lysatra at the sector Moff's request—more like an order, Eli thought grumpily—to deal with some alien delegation that had assembled at the edge of Lysatran space.

At first, he'd thought he was going along with a task force, maybe because he was the sole Lysatran cadet at the Academy. But then he'd spoken to Moff Tli, who had made it very, very clear what was expected of Eli.

"I do not want war in my system," the Moff had said, her voice stern. "And if these aliens want a _marital_ alliance to keep them out of Imperial space, that's what's going to happen."

Eli had learned in the Academy when to keep his mouth shut, and in front of Moffs who were giving you orders was a prime time to do so. So he gritted his teeth and said nothing, even though he wanted to whine, _But why me?_

He knew perfectly well. Lysatra was the only planet in the sector who maintained a monarchic system of government—not that it meant much, when they tithed to the Empire and were ruled by a Moff anyway—and the ruling family was always the richest and most successful of the time. Which meant, since Lysatra was a part of the Empire and not independent, that the most powerful family was a trading family. Which meant that it was the Vanto family. Which meant that Eli was, technically, a prince of Lysatra.

Whatever that meant. Mostly, the monarch worked with the Moff to make sure Lysatra was being treated fairly, but though Eli had been steeped in politics since birth, he didn't much care for it. 

He had left for Myomar specifically to run away from those responsibilities, with his parents' blessing—he had three siblings who were set to inherit the throne, provided no other merchant family upset the line of succession first—but now here he was, back on Lysatra, arguing with a tailor who wanted to deck him out in jewels and the traditional robes of Lysatran nobility.

"I am absolutely not wearing that," he said, jabbing a finger at the elaborate robes on the mannequin. "I have a Navy uniform, you know. That's what I'm wearing."

"You're no longer a cadet in the Imperial Navy," the tailor snapped. Eli winced. "You're a prince of Lysatra and you're not going to embarrass your people by appearing in dull rags in front of a diplomatic delegation." He snorted. "Even if they _are_ just aliens."

Right. Aliens.

Eli didn't share the scorn most people had for aliens, but that didn't mean he wanted to _marry_ one. He didn't want to marry anyone. He was barely twenty, and there were years to go before he wanted to consider it.

Well, he had _thought_ there were years to go.

"Fine," he said testily. "The robes it is."

He stood still as the tailor draped the robes over his head. They were made of cloth-of-gold, meant to represent the Lysatran sun, with green gemstones along the hem and blue ones on the sleeves—for crops and rain, respectively. Around his neck, the tailor placed the necklace, a thick gold torc etched with traditional charms for luck and prosperity in Lisk, the old Lysatran tongue.

There was a circlet for his head, too, which Eli vetoed with force.

"It's not traditional," he pointed out, and it wasn't, having only been used in the past two generations. "So it's just ostentatious at this point. Maybe my, uh—" He didn't want to say it. "Maybe my spouse doesn't like gold."

The tailor just stared at him in the mirror. Eli glared back.

"No circlet," the tailor agreed finally. He stepped back and gestured to the mirror. "You look fine without it."

His voice was dubious. Eli couldn't blame him. He didn't wear the finery well, though that may just have been the glower.

"Oh, Eli!"

His mother appeared in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her.

"You look wonderful," she said cheerfully. "Like a true Lysatran prince!"

"Thanks, Mom," Eli said, wishing desperately he was being put through his paces in the Myomar dojo instead of here.

His mother caught his mood, and came up to him for a hug, careful not to step on the robes.

"I'm sorry about this, love," she murmured into his ear. "But Moff Tli's orders. We'll just have to make the best of it."

"Yeah," Eli said. In the face of her genuine sympathy, his eyes prickled, and he blinked rapidly to keep his eyes from watering too obviously. "I guess we will."

She patted his back.

"This outfit will be perfect for your wedding day," she said. Her comlink chirped and she took it off her belt. "Quissa here."

Eli could only hear faint murmuring, but his mother's face changed from sympathetic pride to something vaguely resembling alarm.

"Is everything okay?" he asked as she returned the comlink to her belt.

"Sort of," she said. "The Chiss delegation is here."

Eli started, and said, "I thought we still had hours!"

"Some discrepancy between their clock and ours," his mother said with a sigh. "Better get changed into something a little less formal."

"Only a little?" Eli asked with a forced smile.

Quissa patted him on the cheek.

"Just wear what Mr. Fsa gives you," she said, indicating the tailor. "I'll see you in the entrance hall."

"Yeah," Eli muttered. "See you."

He turned to the tailor—Fsa, apparently—who was looking at him appraisingly.

"Well," Eli said glumly. "Do whatever you want."

It couldn't be any worse than this.

* * *

The entrance hall was part of the sprawling lodge the Vanto family had held for the past four generations, an ancient building originally made from wooden timbers and reinforced over the years by ceramasteel to keep the elements out and the structure strong. The roof soared high overhead, with a circle cut in the middle to let in the sunlight, although it wasn't necessary with the glow panels installed throughout the hall. But it was symbolic, anyway, not used for lighting. There was a platform at the back of the hall where the monarch theoretically heard petitions from the people; Eli's parents mostly worked from their offices in a modern building a few kilometers away, running the shipping company while managing the disputes that popped up on Lysatra not significant enough to bring to the Moff.

It was on this platform Eli would meet his future spouse.

He tried to loosen the collar of his royal red tunic, which was heavy with embroidery and not very breathable. He missed his cadet uniform.

On the platform, Eli's mother was introducing herself and his father, along with his siblings. Eli wouldn't come out until last. He edged closer to the platform, trying to peer into the delegation of stern, blue-skinned aliens, but whoever his mother was addressing was blocked from his view. Damn. He didn't want to be taken by surprise, but it looked like he was going to be.

The Chiss translator responded in melodious, strongly-accented Basic. He seemed to be introducing Eli's future spouse, who had the longest name Eli had ever heard.

The Chiss. Maker, he was marrying a _Chiss_. Eli thought about the legends of the proud, relentless warriors and shivered. How much of that was true? The tales had always made Eli's heart race—although they couldn't be that bad if they wanted to do a marriage alliance instead of just fight Lysatra. Then again, maybe they were wise enough to know the Empire could crush them. Probably. Hopefully.

Then his mother was calling his name. Eli stopped fidgeting with his collar, straightened into the military posture he'd learned at Myomar, and exhaled hugely. His stomach roiled. Sweat prickled on his forehead. He schooled his face as best he could.

He stepped out onto the platform.

There were two Chiss standing in front of the rest of the delegation; the translator and his spouse, Eli guessed, though he didn't know which was which. He glanced at them before turning to his mother and bowing, as was tradition. They didn't stand on it in the Vanto household, but they would have to during a ceremony like this.

Then he turned and faced them.

The one on the left was wearing a grey tunic with maroon trim, his blue-black hair pulled back into a long braid. He looked to be a little taller than Eli—though it was hard to tell when Eli was up on the platform like this, and now that he thought about it, wasn't that a little insulting?—and although it was a little hard to tell, what with the blue skin and disconcerting red eyes, Eli thought he was rather—handsome, to be honest. In an alien sort of way. Prominent cheekbones, a strong jawline, a lithe figure. Eli swallowed, both wishing he hadn't noticed that and glad he had, and turned his eyes to the other one.

His mouth almost dropped open—not because this one was any more attractive than the other Chiss, or because he was significantly _less_ attractive, but because he was wearing what was clearly a military uniform. He was taller than the other Chiss, his hair short and slicked back in a style that would've suited Navy regulations, and he looked so much like the first Chiss that Eli knew immediately they were related. Maybe if he was a military man, they'd have something in common. Maybe the Chiss really were considering letting Eli into their Navy.

They were both looking at him with neutral expressions on their faces, waiting. Someone coughed behind him.

Damn. He'd waited too long.

Eli hastily bowed, remembered halfway through that, as royalty, he didn't have to bow to someone lower in rank, and jerked upright. Maker, he missed the Academy! Things were so clear-cut there, and he didn't have to worry about anything but saluting superior officers, which at his rank of cadet was everyone.

"I'm Eli Vanto," he said, his voice echoing in the hall. "Prince of Lysatra."

"Mitth'ras'safis," the one in the grey tunic said. His was the melodious voice Eli had heard before; the translator?

He didn't bow. Chiss probably didn't. He nodded to the other Chiss. "My brother, Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo's eyes bored into Eli. Eli had the distinct impression he was being measured and found wanting.

"Welcome to Lysatra," he said formally. This part, at least, he knew. "May you find joy and peace under the sun."

"Thank you," Mitth'ras'safis said with a nod. "We are pleased to join you and solidify this alliance."

Blunt. Eli could appreciate that.

But not exactly clear on what was going to happen next.

Eli's eyes shifted between the two, and he blurted out, "So, which of you is going to—well—be my..."

He faltered as the two Chiss exchanged a look. Mitth'raw'nuruodo lifted an eyebrow sardonically; Mitth'ras'safis' jaw clenched slightly. Eli tried to wipe the expression off his face and stiffened his posture.

Quissa stepped up next to him and murmured, "Eli, did you not read the informational datapad I gave you?"

Eli had skimmed it, then tossed it away in frustration at the whole situation. He'd planned to read it thoroughly after his robe fitting, but the Chiss had ruined that. His face burned.

"The Chiss perform what they call triad marriages," his mother explained softly. "You're going to marry both of them."

"_Both_ of them?"  
Eli had spoken too loudly; the Chiss who hadn't spoken yet, Mitth'raw'nuruodo, said mildly, "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No," Eli said hastily. "No, I was just surprised."

"I was under the impression you had received a briefing on the situation before we arrived," Mitth'raw'nuruodo continued, his voice sharpening slightly. "Was I mistaken?"

Eli opened his mouth to speak, indignant and embarrassed at the same time, when Mitth'ras'safis broke in.

"It does not matter," he said firmly. "Misunderstandings are bound to happen when two unfamiliar cultures meet."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo was still looking at Eli, and Eli shivered a little at the intensity of that gaze.

Mitth'ras'safis continued, "Perhaps it is time to withdraw to our separate quarters and reconvene for the marriage ceremony."

"I think that would be a good idea," Eli's mother said, a little dryly.

"Nice meeting you both," Eli managed.

The Chiss nodded in tandem, and Quissa gripped him by the shoulder, steering him away.

"We," she said in a tone Eli hadn't heard since he was a kid, "are going to have a talk about preparation for this wedding."

Eli winced, but he deserved it. He should've done his research.

He hoped the Chiss weren't too offended.

* * *

  
"Unimpressive," Thrass pronounced, once they were in the privacy of the _Sundrop_. "But not, I think, too objectionable."

The man, whose name Thrass could not help pronouncing as Eli'van'to, had fumbled the ceremony, which did not leave a good impression on Thrass, and had clearly come to the meeting unprepared. But he was not rude, as rumor had said humans could be to nonhumans, nor had he been especially disrespectful once his initial exclamation was over.

That was, Thrass thought, about all that could be said for Eli'van'to.

"Indeed," Thrawn agreed. They were in Thrass' quarters, and he had made himself comfortable on the couch afforded to those who traveled as diplomats, much nicer than his officer's quarters. "Not objectionable at all."

Thrass gave Thrawn a sharp look. Thrawn returned it, face opaque.

"You liked him," Thrass said slowly. "Why?"

Thrawn sat back and steepled his fingers. Thrass prepared himself for some justifications.

"He is observant," Thrawn began thoughtfully. "I saw him attempting to peer at us from the wings of the stage, and once he approached us, he noted details in our reactions and tailored his own to suit."

"Did he?" Thrass could not remember anything like that, only the alarm in El'ivan'to's voice when he had realized the specifics of the marriage.

"He did. He did not fear us, either. Uncommon among humans. I also believe his story of serving in a military academy; he had the posture of a soldier."

"Lots of people have good posture."

"I can tell the difference," Thrawn said. "And I trust you noted his appearance. His facial features have a pleasing symmetry." He tilted his head to the side, thoughtful. "Not objectionable."

"Thrawn, he is an alien," Thrass pointed out. A shade of discomfort fluttered through him; he had noted El'ivan'to's appearance, indeed, and had set it aside as a passing thought, unimportant. That Thrawn had noticed it also was a matter of interest.

"And yet we will be expected to do our marital duties, will we not?"

"It is traditional," Thrass said. "Though the marriage contract specifically forbade witnesses for the consummation."

"Really?" Thrawn's eyebrows rose. "How...intimate."

Thrass had argued about that one while hammering out the details of the contract, citing the uncomfortable vulnerability brought about by having sex without witnesses, who could step in if things went awry. The Lysatran queen had vetoed it and refused to budge on the matter; humans, apparently, considered sex something to be done in private, as if they were ashamed of it.

Thrass explained this briefly to Thrawn, who took the news with more equanimity than Thrass had expected. His brother, as far as Thrass knew, had never once stepped outside the bounds of propriety when it came to sexual matters—in fact, Thrass could not think of a single time Thrawn had courted a person, or of any rumors that he had transgressed the courtship system altogether.

And he would have heard them. There were many rumors about Thrawn; Thrass made a point of keeping up with them, since his brother wouldn't.

"Once in the Ascendancy, he may be willing to accede to our traditions," Thrass concluded. "Though the contract remains the same."

"Perhaps." Thawn touched his index fingers to his lips in thought. "Did you arrange for the Csillan or Coperoan ceremony?"

"The Coperoan," Thrass said. It had been a risky choice, politically speaking; the ceremony would be taking place on Csilla and the Mitth Family was Csillan as well. But Thrass had allowed himself a shred of sentiment; he and Thrawn would marry this alien in the style of the world of their birth, no matter how unfashionable it may be.

Thrawn, he thought, would appreciate it. Judging from the faint smile on his face, he did—or something else amused him. It was difficult to tell with Thrawn.

"We will court him, of course," Thrawn said casually. "In the Coperoan manner."

"There isn't a need for courtship," Thrass said pointedly. "We are marrying him already."

"It's proper," Thrawn said, unfazed by Thrass' tone, and, Thrass suspected acidly, more than a little amused by his annoyance.

"You don't care about what's proper," Thrass said. Thrawn's eyes flicked to him, unexpectedly serious.

"Perhaps not," he said, and rose to his feet. "I will adjourn to my quarters now." A dry tone entered his voice. "And contemplate our upcoming marriage."

* * *

  
His access to Lysatran art had been limited, for despite his request, the diplomatic envoy hadn't seen fit to bring him any examples. Fortunately, Thrawn had ample time over the night before his wedding to raid the Lysatran libraries for all the information he could gather.

Lysatra, it seemed, had been a primarily agricultural planet for generations, trading their rich food stores for other supplies as needed. This was reflected in their art, which emphasized the land, stability, an inward-turning gaze. As the prince of Lysatra, raised to represent his people, Eli Vanto should embody all these characteristics.

Thrawn thought about the man at the ceremony, and had his doubts.

"Thrawn," Thrass said, entering his quarters. He was dressed in the traditional Mitth Family formal wear: a long woolen grey robe, meant for the Csillan climate, edged with maroon. A belt around his waist, made of hammered silver. A cloak of the same shade of maroon with the emblem of the Mitth Family embroidered along the hem. The holos in Thrawn's quarters tinged the ensemble a faint blue. "You're not ready?"

Thrawn would have to forsake his Defense Fleet uniform for this same outfit. He was not looking forward to it.

"I will be but a minute," he assured his brother, and deactivated the holos. Thrass sighed and leaned against the wall, head turned politely as Thrawn stripped and changed into the formal robe. The material was soft, and comfortable in the controlled climate of the ship; once under the Lysatran sun, it would be miserable.

Ah, well. Thrawn had dealt with worse in his time.

Once he was dressed, he allowed Thrass to circle him, gaze critical; Thrawn had been rebellious once, and Thrass still had a trace of distrust when he was put in formal situations. But Thrass found nothing objectionable about his clothes or demeanor.

"Very well," he said. "Shall we go be married, then?"

"Let's," Thrawn said, very dryly.

Sweat prickled on his skin the moment he stepped outside; Chiss were not adapted for high temperatures. Beside him, Thrass' neutral politician's face belied the faintest hint of discomfort.

Eli Vanto, Thrawn thought as they stepped into the entrance hall, where the ceremony would take place, looked even more uncomfortable. His facial heat was bright, his jaw tense; he was clearly jittery, standing on the platform where Thrass and Thrawn would soon join him, but was relying on his training to suppress it. Successfully enough; he pulsed with energy and nervousness, but it might not be evident to a casual observer.

Thrawn let his gaze roam over Eli Vanto. The robes he wore and the designs embroidered upon them reflected his analysis of Lysatran art; there was a red sash tied around his waist that didn't quite fit the rest of the outfit, in a shade of red curiously close to the Mitth Family color. Coincidence, or did Thrass mention it to the Queen? It was traditional for the third of the triad to take on the Family colors upon marriage, and it would be like Thrass to care.

The gold of his robes made an interesting contrast to his skin, Thrawn noted, like sun and earth, echoing the consistent Lysatran pattern of nature worship. Perhaps not purposeful, but Thrawn appreciated the symbolism. Aesthetically, too, he was appealing. Alien, strange, but not without charm.

Then they were at the platform, where Eli Vanto and his mother the queen stood. A pair of women in dark robes, also clearly ceremonial, escorted Thrawn and Thrass up the steps, and at last he stood beside his intended.

He was quite short. Thrawn looked down at him, while Eli Vanto peered up, his gaze flicking between Thrawn and Thrass rapidly. 

"Today we come together in thanks for a peaceful marriage," Quissa said, then, "Hold out your hands."

Both the Chiss had been informed of this aspect of the ceremony; Thrawn found it interesting how physical contact was an important part of marriage ceremonies everywhere.

Thrawn clasped Eli Vanto's hand. It was cool, compared to his, the skin fragile, though he had callouses on his fingers. He gripped Thrawn's hand as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling. 

Across from him, Thrass had taken Eli Vanto's other hand; he met Thrawn's eyes and quirked an eyebrow infinitesimally. Are you still willing?  
Thrawn inclined his head very slightly, and Thrass' shoulders became less rigid, though his overall posture remained straight. He had been concerned, then, that Thrawn would back out so close to the pivotal moment.

Thrawn was not offended by this. Perhaps five years ago, he would have been tempted. Not now.

"With these cords, I bind you," Quissa said, draping a length of deep red fabric over Thrass' and Eli Vanto's hands. She repeated the motion on her son's other hand, and looped the fine silk over their wrists, tying it just tightly enough to be noticeable. Rather like this marriage, Thrawn supposed. "May you share stability and contentment throughout summer and winter, spring and autumn. May the sun rise upon your passion and set upon your love. May the years pass slowly, and may you be bonded for life."

A predictable blessing, but lovely in a rustic way. Quissa stepped back and clapped once; the onlookers echoed the clap. Thus, it seemed, was the ceremony concluded.

Beside him, Eli Vanto inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. Thrass was watching him with a look of curiosity on his face. Thrawn glanced down at the red bonds around his wrist, at Eli Vanto's hand in his, and thought suddenly and vividly about touching that fragile skin, stroking it to make him shiver, whether a stern or gentle touch would stir him more.

Time enough for that when the Coperoan ceremony took place. For now, Thrawn pulled at the red sash to free his hand—he would, if he were Lysatran, keep it for his children's use in their own marriage ceremonies; as it were, he planned on examining the subtle embroidery on it later—and carefully stepped away from Eli Vanto. Thrass did the same.

The three of them stood there, eyeing one another—though in truth, the Chiss were eyeing Eli Vanto, and he was looking back, his brow creased in what may have been a frown, or perhaps merely concentration.

"Well," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Next we share a meal together, and then…"

He trailed off.

And then the consummation, or so it would be among the Chiss. Thrawn had gathered that while there was an expectation of such a thing on Lysatra, it was not required to seal the marriage as it was in the Ascendancy.

He found he was—curious—to see what would happen.

He wondered if Eli Vanto was too.

* * *

  
Eli wouldn't say he had been _scared_, exactly, of what would come the night of his wedding day. He wasn't a virgin. There had been men at the Academy who were interested in him, so he wasn't completely naive.

But these were aliens, intimidating aliens, and he couldn't forget the way Mitth'ras'safis had held his hand so tightly, as if unaware of the strength of his grip, or the way Mitth'raw'nuruodo's eyes had burned into him. And they were complete strangers, without the easy camraderie of the Academy to smooth over the awkward transition between saying hello and propositioning someone.

Eli had no idea if they even _liked_ him.

But as it happened, the Chiss, after some discussion with his mother that Eli was unhappily not privy to, departed for their ship, and Eli was left alone in his room that night, coping with an odd assortment of feelings. Anxiety was chief among them, but also…disappointment? He had, he realized with a shock, been looking forward to spending the night with the two Chiss—stars, he could barely even pronounce their names—in the same tight, urgent way he looked forward to a sports competition or a test he wasn't sure he'd pass.

Reclining on the bed, he exhaled and picked up the datapad with information on the Chiss wedding ceremony. This time, he wouldn't skim it.

Some time later, he yelped, "They're going to do _what_ to me?"  
He was staring down at the section of the text that explained, in cool and scientific terms, how they were going to give him a drink that would enhance the desires of the wedded triad and bring about a consummation, thus sealing the marriage.

So the Chiss were going to drug him with an aphrodisiac and he was going to have sex with both of them.

This was not what Eli had signed up for.

He licked his lips and imagined it, pinned between the two Chiss brothers. Their skin had been hot, feverish to the touch; Mitth'raw'nuruodo's hands had been calloused, Mitth'ras'safis' soft but strong. He thought about those hands on him, caressing and stroking him. They were so calm and composed; would they be that way in the bedroom, or would they fall apart with pleasure? Maybe one of them would—for some reason, Eli got that impression from Mitth'ras'safis, who seemed a little more tightly-wound than Mitth'raw'nuruodo—and the other would take the lead. Or maybe they would expect Eli to take the lead. He wouldn't mind that, although the prospect was a little nervewracking. And a little appealing—

He was hard. He was reading a protocol manual and he was hard.

Eli tossed the datapad against the bed and wriggled out of his underwear, taking himself in hand. He could not be distracted enough to mess up the Chiss marriage ceremony.

And if he came all over himself thinking about the two Chiss—his husbands—well, that was entirely appropriate, wasn't it?

* * *

  
All wrapped up in his Lysatran finery again, Eli shivered in the reception hall, waiting for the Chiss marriage ceremony to begin. He wasn't dressed for the weather, which was much, much colder than anything he'd experienced on sunny Lysatra or at any of the planets he'd visited while traveling with his parents' shipping company. Csilla was cold. Inhospitable. In more ways than one.

For one, no one but the diplomatic delegation spoke Basic. Or at least, they weren't deigning to speak Basic to him. Mitth'ras'safis—who had given Eli permission to call him by the name Thrass, which what he called a core name—had been his guide, mostly. Mitth'raw'nuruodo—Thrawn—had disappeared on military business. Eli had considered bringing up his wish to join their navy—the Defense Fleet—and decided against it. Let him wait until they were officially bound together by Chiss laws.

Thrass had mostly been cool and distant toward him, polite but not friendly. Eli wasn't sure if that was a Chiss thing or if he'd offended the man somehow. He sure hadn't made a good impression, he knew.

But then Eli would catch Thrass observing him out of the corner of his eye, a complex and thoughtful expression on his face, and he thought that maybe Thrass was warming up to him a little.

Maker, he hoped so. Living on Csilla for a half a standard year, every year, was going to be hard enough without his husbands hating him on top of everything.  
Thrass and Thrawn had both taught him some Cheunh on the flight from Lysatra to Csilla, but he couldn't pronounce a word without one of them wincing, and it bore no relation to Basic, Sy Bisti, or any of the other languages he knew. So he was stuck with numbers and some basic nouns and verbs, and what the datapad had said about the ceremony.

As the third member of the triad, joining the Mitth Family, Eli had been escorted to the reception chamber alone. Thrass and Thrawn would join him shortly, he gathered, but for now, it was just him, and two Chiss that may have been part of the ceremony or may have been guards. He wasn't sure.

The chamber itself was about the same size as the hall on Lysatra, but it was underground, built in a massive cave that was part of the system connecting the vast city of Csaplar. The surface, Eli gathered, was too cold to inhabit, but the caves flowed with hot springs that had made the caves habitable for early Chiss. Right now, the chamber was dull and grey, but Eli knew to expect something different once the ceremony actually started. Though whether or not he would be able to tell, he didn't know—Chiss saw a different spectrum than humans did. For all he knew, the grey walls danced with color to the eyes of his Chiss guards.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when one of the Chiss at his side said quietly, "It is time."

_So they do speak Basic_, Eli thought with mild indignation.

Then the grand door at the end of the chamber opened, and Eli tensed. But he was quickly distracted by the gradual shift of the color of the walls, rippling in rainbow waves and gleaming like poured water as the coating on the walls shifted hue. Above them, banners snapped as they were released from the ceiling, vivid burgundy, the color of the Mitth Family. Even the floor tiles changed, emitting light that shone and danced like the auroras at the poles of Lysatra.

All of it to welcome the two Trial-Born scions of the Mitth Family, who were striding toward him purposefully, with a woman between them. An older woman, dressed in the plain grey robes of a Chiss official not beholden to any Family. She carried a tall, slender pitcher filled with dark liquid and three cups.  
She stopped before them, and Thrass and Thrawn took up their places at Eli's side. Eli felt his face heat at their presence, thinking of his fantasies a few days earlier. Those hadn't come back to haunt him in the interim, but now all he could think about was the emphasis the Chiss placed on consummation, and what was going to happen after the ceremony.

The officiant began to speak, fluid Cheunh Eli couldn't follow. An invocation, he knew, and then Thrass and Thrawn each extended a hand to him. He took them. Strange, how similar this ceremony was to Lysatran marriages. But here, Thrass and Thrawn also joined hands, and they stood in a circle, Eli's eyes flickering from one to the other, as the officiant spoke in a chanting cadence.

The guards were witnesses, Eli realized belatedly, as they chimed in to the chanting. Eli could catch the two brothers' names in the strings of syllables, and the phrase he had learned meant Mitth Family—and his own name, weirdly garbled to sound Chiss.

She asked them a question—Eli assumed so, at least, for Thrass and Thrawn each answered, and Eli stumbled through the ritual phrase he had been taught.  
_I accept this honor, and will hold the name of my new Family in the highest esteem._

There was no talk of love in the Chiss ceremony. Only duty.

Eli slid a glance at each of the brothers in turn. Thrass was attentive to what the officiant was saying, his eyes occasionally flicking to Eli. Thrawn's gaze was firmly fixed on Eli, watching his face. It was a little disconcerting, to be honest.

Abruptly, the officiant finished. She stepped back and hoisted the pitcher, and poured three cups of dark liquid, one each for Eli, Thrass, and Thrawn. Then she and the witnesses departed. The door of the chamber slammed shut and the sound echoed.

"Ambrosia," Thrawn murmured in Basic, startling Eli. "I believe that is the translation."

"They did warn you of this part, didn't they?" Thrass asked.

"The, uh, drug?" Eli tilted his glass, looking at the liquid. It was pearlescent, deep red. He smelled it; faintly earthy. "Yeah, I read about it."

"Very well." Thrass studied Eli's face for a moment. Eli did his best to calm his nerves and stared back. "Then drink."

Eli drank.

The liquid tasted like it smelled, almost like leaves—maybe it was some kind of tea. It burned going down, like alcohol, but the warmth it left behind wasn't like any liquor Eli had ever had. It was a slow tingling that started in his stomach and spread to his limbs and groin. Eli blinked as the drug took hold, hitting faster than Eli had anticipated. He inhaled deeply and shivered. His scalp prickled; he was very aware of his skin, the smooth fabric of his robes against it. He shifted to make the silk rub against his body like a caress, his nipples stiffening. His mouth dropped open.

"Interesting," Thrawn said from beside him. Eli swung his head around to look at him. He still hadn't drank his tea; he was swirling it around in its cup. Eli was hypnotized by the pearlescent shimmer. "It seems to affect humans more quickly than Chiss."

"I can see that," Thrass said dryly. He took Eli's arm and Eli's senses flared. Thrass' hand burned through the layers of fabric directly to Eli's skin, and Eli gasped. Every instinct in his body was telling him to touch Thrass, although he was also aware that they were still in the reception chamber.

He couldn't stop himself. He stepped close to Thrass, chest-to-chest, and wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck.

"Ah," Thrass said, in a slightly strangled voice, and his hands came to rest on Eli's hips. He had drained his cup, Eli thought, if the heightened glow of his eyes and the way his fingers were tightening on Eli's hips was any indication. "Eli'van'to—"

"Call me Eli," Eli interrupted.

"Eli. I—"

He cut off as Eli nuzzled against his throat, pressing his lips to it. Who cared that other people might see? The Chiss wanted proof of the consummation, right?

Thrass tasted vaguely salty, like skin and an alien taste-scent Eli couldn't place at all. He made a soft noise in his throat and tilted his head back, allowing Eli access.

"Come," Thrawn said, and Eli heard a clink as he set his cup down. Had he drank out of it? "The effects will only grow stronger the longer we wait."

Thrass exhaled shakily, but did not stop clutching at Eli's hips.

"You are correct," he said. "We should adjourn to the bedchamber."

"Sure," Eli said, mostly wanting to get his hands back on Thrass. "The bedchamber."

That sounded right.

Thrawn gently pried Eli and Thrass apart, and steered them with one hand on Thrass' shoulder and one on the small of Eli's back. Eli leaned into his touch, and

Thrawn stroked his back with his thumb. Eli shivered again.

The room was large, with an L-shaped couch and a bed, and had…benches?

"For the witnesses," Thrawn said in answer to his unspoken question. "Queen Quissa was very adamant about having none at this part of the ceremony."

"Yeah, because it's weird," Eli said, then winced. "Sorry. That was impolite."

"It was," Thrass agreed as Thrawn closed the door behind him, the lock clicking shut. His hands went to the sash around Eli's waist and untied it deftly. "We will forgive you."

Eli thought kissing Thrass right then would be an absolutely genius idea.

It was. Thrass returned the kiss with passion, his tongue slipping inside Eli's mouth, hot and wet. Eli had wondered earlier if Chiss kissed like humans; they definitely did.

Thrass slid his hands underneath the folds of Eli's robe and pushed them off his shoulders. He still wore the thin tunic underneath, but nothing else, and Thrass' hands immediately started to roam.

Then Thrawn eased into his place behind Eli, neatly sandwiching him between the two Chiss. He cupped Eli's ass in his hands, then slid them around to the front while Thrass sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck—

Eli's brain went offline.

"Yes," Thrawn murmured. His voice was breathier than Eli had heard it so far, and he mouthed at Eli's shoulder while he stroked him with a firm hand. Eli melted. "We forgive you, indeed."

Eli shuddered and bit off a moan. Thrass raised his head and said, "No, let us hear you."

Maker. Maybe this marriage was going to work out better than he'd thought.

Actually, he thought as the combined efforts of Thrawn and Thrass tipped him onto the bed, sprawling naked with the two Chiss staring at him like predators going in for the kill, he was pretty sure it would.


End file.
